Assassin
by I Can Kill You With My Brain
Summary: Simon never saves River from the Academy.


**Assassin**

The letters had stopped coming after a while, slowing to a trickle before they cut off. The codes had become more erratic, and sometimes letters were missing, or even whole words. Sometimes there wasn't even a message, just nonsense that taunted Simon, teased him with the fact that he couldn't save her, that she was vanishing right before his eyes.

He threw himself into the search, but there was nothing to find, and eventually he stopped looking. Stopped doing anything in fact. Eating, sleeping, working. They held no meaning for him now, not when everywhere he turned he saw her, eyes wide and happy and filled with laughter. Not when every time he closed his eyes he saw the words parading past. _Simon, they're hurting us. Get me out._

They brought in psychologists and psychiatrists and everyone else they could think of. Pumped him full of drugs so he would forget. After a while they all sounded the same, all working to convince him that his sister was fine, that she was learning, happy. He didn't even bother to correct them anymore, and he wondered what that said about him. He couldn't even stick to his story, much less find her, help her.

They showed him the new letters that spoke of classes and books and the weather. These letters were happy and light and fake, but only Simon thought that. _Look how happy she is_, they told him. You're worried over nothing. Sometimes, on his bad days, he believes them. Sometimes, he wonders why he has more bad days than good.

One day he had enough and he walked out the door, heading for the docks and the ships. He wanted to leave behind the doubts and the fears and those haunting brown eyes. He saw a ship and took it, signing up as their doctor without a second thought. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't because of the fact that the girl out front reminded him of River as a young girl.

He knew they were smugglers, he wasn't stupid. At least it provided steady work, and when his hands were busy his head could focus on the task.

They didn't really accept him, he knew that too. Sure, the companion, Inara, and the shepherd Book were nice enough, and Wash always had a friendly word for him if he wasn't piloting. Mal, the captain, had his respect, if not his liking, and he knew enough about ship politics to not get in the way of the second-in-command, a woman called Zoe. The hired gun he tried to avoid as much as possible. Apparently he didn't like his name laughed at, even though the name Jayne didn't go well with the large muscular man.

The only one he tried not to talk to, or even be in the same room with, was the mechanic, Kaylee. Sure she was nice, pretty, and seemed to like him too, but just being near her brought back the pain in his chest, the feeling that his heart was being stabbed repeatedly.

It was bad enough the nightmares were back without being near her. She seemed to trigger them, though he told himself she couldn't possibly. He knew it was the eyes, the windows to the soul. Large and brown and filled with happiness. Just like _hers_.

He couldn't bring himself to even think the name anymore. He told himself that it was nothing, that it was just best to forget about her like she seemed to have forgotten about him. She was happy, he told himself, over and over. So when Mal had announced they were visiting a small town called Two Rivers, he passed off the fact that he had dropped all the plates he had been carrying out for dinner as the ship wobbling. It didn't even occur to him that they were on dry land.

Sometimes, he wonders how much of his memory is real and not made up. But he shakes off the doubts as soon as they start. He knows the lines, the script. He's always been a good storyteller, a good liar, able to convince others of just about anything. It's both easier and harder to fool himself, he thinks sometimes.

In his weakest moments, those where he is just about to fall asleep, he wonders what happened to her. What they did to her, in that place where he couldn't get her out. He had heard enough before his parents found out, before the authorities were called and his operation was shut down.

Words like _neural programming_, _physical enhancements_, and _experiments_ are hard to forget after all, even when they're not applied to your sister.

XXXXXXXX

He knows their luck wouldn't last forever, so it doesn't even surprise him when the Alliance shows up with a search warrant for the ship and the order that the crew all gather in the cargo bay.

They stand in a line, facing the door. They're all screwed and they know it. It's impossible to hide seventy boxes of illegal merchandise on a ship the size of a Firefly, no matter how hard they try.

Kaylee is crying softly, and he tries to avoid looking at her. Inara is next to her, her face an expressionless mask as she holds Kaylee's hand. Book is on Kaylee's other side, eyes worried.

Mal and Zoe look just like he always thought they would look, faces blank and cold. Wash, standing next to his wife, looked nervous. Jayne, Simon thought slightly bitterly, just looked pissed that he didn't have a gun on him. But if there was even a chance of coming out of this not imprisoned or dead, being weaponless would improve it.

Simon stayed to the edges as usual. He didn't even feel worried, or scared. If he was in jail, at least he would have a place to stay, to eat and sleep.

He even smiled a little when he saw the three Alliance soldiers armed with guns walk up to the cargo bay door and step inside, their faces disdainful. The rest of the crew looked at him like he was mad, or an idiot, or both, but he didn't care. Simon Tam had stopped caring about anything a long time ago.

His smile dropped when the soldiers moved aside though, revealing two men, their hands, hanging by their sides, covered in blue rubber gloves. Their faces were completely empty, cold and bland at the same time. Just the sight of them chilled his blood. But he didn't care about them, didn't care about the men with guns, because in between them stood River.

_River_. The name broke through the careful walls he had constructed around his life and shattered them into thousands of pieces. Everything flowed past him, the letters, the meetings, those dreaded words. He remembered again, and the missing gaps in his logic filled in.

She looked perfect, beautiful. She was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt. Her feet, he noted detachedly, were bare. Her long hair hung over her shoulders, several strands falling into her face.

"River." It came out as a choked sob and he stumbled forwards, ignoring the guns that were suddenly pointed at him or the grabbing hand of Mal, trying desperately to pull him back.

She turned towards him, and her face was blank, an emotionless mask. Her eyes, the ones that haunted him constantly, were completely empty. They stared at him, hard and cold, without a shred of recognition.

And now Simon noticed the twin swords strapped onto her back, the gun holster at her hip, the way the clothes were designed to give her the best possible range of motion and flexibility.

_Assassin_. The thought springs unbidden to mind, and he knows it's true, knows that the rumors he had hoped with all his heart weren't real are. But still, he can't help the hand that stretches out for her, desperate to know that she's real, and not just a figment of his imagination.

He doesn't even see the movement, but the next second she's holding his wrist in a tight grip. It's almost too tight, the pressure painful as her cold fingers wrap around his wrist. Almost too cold he notices, like she's been holding a freezing glass of water for too long.

The three Alliance men were nervous, and the two men standing beside her looked vaguely uneasy. He didn't need to look at the crew to tell they're terrified, and that Mal, Zoe, and Jayne were desperately wishing for guns or weapons or _anything_.

But they're not important, and they don't seem real to Simon. For the first time in five years he's seeing his sister, and nothing else matters, not even the sound of one of the blue-handed men rattling off a list of offences against the government that the crew has committed.

He can feel something cold gathering in his stomach as he stares into her eyes. River used to have whole worlds reflected in her gaze, whole universes even. She was alive, happy. Every glance could brighten a room for Simon, and he lived for her smiles. He would give anything for her to smile at him like she used to. Not the smile she reserved for everyone else, teachers and parents and friends, but the smile she gave only to him, the ones that made him feel like the most important person alive.

Now, as she tipped her head slightly to the side, the hand on his wrist tightening painfully, her eyes were like voids. He searched her gaze, but River wasn't the person looking out at him. She was gone, and something else had taken her place.

"River?" It was choked out against his will, and it was distorted by the feeling of ice that was rapidly traveling through his body. She smiles at him then, _his_ smile, and he can't help but smile back, even though he realizes it doesn't reach her eyes.

Her head tilted more, and he saw something flicker behind her eyes; the faintest of wrinkles creasing her forehead before the skin smoothed out and her eyes turned cold again.

She twisted her wrist sharply and Simon heard something crack in his own wrist moments before a wave of pain washed over him, almost driving him to his knees. Black spots washed across eyes and he let out a small gasp that turned into a yelp as River abruptly pulled him closer to her.

The flickering was back again, her forehead wrinkled more clearly this time. Then, with a small sigh, she shoved him violently backwards. Simon could feel himself hurtle into a wall and felt his head slam backwards, smashing into hard metal.

The blackness becomes a wave and he's hovering, the pain in his wrist and head washing through him in waves. He barely hears the gunshots, barely registers what they mean as the crew fall to the floor, and he knows with sickening certainty that it was his sister who did it.

And yet, as he hears the footsteps draw closer, he knows that he doesn't hate her, that he never could hate her.

She crouches in front of him, the gun still clutched in one pale, slender hand. He struggles to keep his eyes open, desperate not to lose sight of her. The vision is blurry though, because he could swear that she looks almost confused.

In the background the two men hover, and one of them is holding what looks like a silver rod in his hand. They look worried, and Simon starts to wonder what happened to the other three men before he gives it up. Focusing is hard enough, and he needs to see River.

Her head's tilted again, strands of black hair covering it. He struggles to raise his hand, the movement nearly causing him to black out, and brushes it away. Something red and sticky smudges her face and he realizes it's blood. His, to be exact. He thinks she may have shot him, but he can't tell because he's awash with pain and he doesn't think he could identify the different injuries any more.

"You didn't come." The voice is cold and accusing and Simon feels the knife stab into his heart again and lodge there.

"No mei-mei," he whispers, "But you still found me." He's coughing now, the blood bubbling up over his lips and leaving a faint spray across her face. He tries to remember if she's closer now than before but he can't think anymore, and she's slipping away until all he can see are two huge eyes set in a white face.

"I can see you," it's a mocking whisper, cold and cruel and he knows it's not her, not River. Cold fingers touch his face, traveling down his cheek and onto his neck.

And then there's pain, just one more sharp burst, and he's gone.


End file.
